Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better
by Reneia
Summary: Feliciano knows two things about Ludwig Beilschmidt. One: He's blonde. Two: He and Feliciano despise each other. Always have, always will. But then, Feliciano pushes his teacher a bit too far, and they end up working together on a quarter-long group project. And his dad is getting more neglectful by the day, it seems. This is going to be a long quarter. (Updates every two weeks!)
1. Week One

_I._

"Flaked out on you again, huh?"

Feliciano sighed, staring dejectedly at the sad sandwich in front of him, cheek resting against his hand. "What do you think?" he said, idly poking at the construct with a plastic white fork. He set the fork down on the table and looked up, one eyebrow arched, somehow wordlessly sarcastic.

Alfred rolled his eyes and lunged across the table, ignoring his larger boyfriend's weak protest, grasping the thin sandwich in one hand and sitting back. He lifted the floppy ham-and-bread up, studying it with a critical eye. "Jeez," he finally said, lifting one of the bread slices with a finger and furrowing his eyebrows at the single sliver of ham crammed underneath. "This isn't a sandwich," he informed them, giving Feliciano a pointed stare over his glasses before taking a huge, measured bite.

"Thanks," Feliciano said, the single word bone-dry. Alfred just grinned, wiggled his brows, and took another bite. Feliciano rolled his eyes, and, unable to keep the unimpressed facade up any longer, laughed. "It really is kind of pathetic, isn't it?" he said, smiling despite himself. Alfred nodded.

"My god," a quieter voice piped up. "Please tell me you're going to the vending machine, or something."

Feliciano held up two dollars. "Don't worry, Matthew," he said. "I've got it taken care of."

The other boy breathed a sigh of relief, the motion making his loose golden curls gently bounce. "I know you like to joke about it, Feli, but really, if you ever need anything-"

"Loosen up, Matt!" Alfred scolded. "He knows he's welcome at our house. Just enjoy the moment, man." His mild-mannered twin shot him a glare underneath a raised brow, but leaned back, ceding for the moment. "Here," he said after a moment, raising a finger and proceeding to dig through his messy backpack, eventually pulling out a wrapped (though slightly crushed) moon pie. He slammed it on the table, and made a frantic gesture that could have been interpreted as both an invitation or a threat.

"You never ate that?" the large white-blonde beside him said, eyes wide and hurt. Alfred froze. "That was my three-month anniversary gift to you, Alfred," he continued, appearing to deflate. Feliciano stifled a giggle behind his hand. The teen in question gulped, eyes flicking back and forth frantically.

"I- babe-" Alfred said, voice strained. His entire world seemed to be crashing around his shoulders. "That's… a different moon pie?" he attempted, sounding too guilty to be at all believable.

"Don't lie to me," Ivan said. "I can see the label. I wrote your name on it."

Alfred put his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," he said weakly. "I just forgot. Please forgive me? I'll eat all the moon pies you give me from now on?"

At this, Feliciano let out a cackle. Soon, quiet snickers could be heard beside him. Alfred shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at the table. Then, even Ivan began to laugh, low, rumbly chuckles making a strange sort of harmony when paired with Feliciano's loud, mirthful giggles and Matthew's breathy, half-muffled ones. Ivan, shoulders still shaking a bit, leaned over, pulling a still-grumbling Alfred into his side and pressed a smiling kiss to his temple. All the pent-up tension in the smaller blonde's shoulders suddenly released, leaving the boy a boneless, slumped, disgruntled mess.

"Teasing you is fun," Ivan offered, resting his cheek on Alfred's hair. Feliciano mock-cooed at the two, snickering when both promptly flipped him off.

"But, uh…" Feliciano said, smile fading a bit. He fingered a stray thread on his jeans and nodded at the crushed American treat. "Can I? Eat that, I mean. We… haven't gone out to the store in a while." The air around the table stilled, becoming much more somber.

"'Course, Feli," Alfred said, leaning out of Ivan's one-armed embrace and pushing the pie forward. "Man, what happened to your standards? Sophomore year, you refused to eat anything that wasn't sprinkled with cheese," he joked, cracking an encouraging grin.

"What was it called?" Matthew mused aloud. "Arpeggio?" From the humorous glint in his eyes, Feliciano could tell that the teen was just egging him on. That didn't keep him from rolling his eyes and giving the smug boy a light shove, though.

"That's music, not cheese," he said, matter-of-fact, tearing open the flimsy plastic and taking a small bite out of the chocolate marshmallow treat inside. It was disgusting, as cheaply-made, pre-packaged food usually was. But it was food, so Feliciano kept eating.

"Oh, _shit,_ " Matthew muttered, taking a moment to bite his lip in worry before leaning down and tearing frantically through his backpack.

"You alright there, my bro?" Alfred said, not sounding concerned in the least. He leaned smugly back against his boyfriend's side.

"I would be if you hadn't dragged me halfway across town for a carton of eggs last night," Matthew hissed, shooting him an unimpressed look before triumphantly pulling out a torn, half-finished homework page.

Feliciano choked on his moon pie, and fell into a violent coughing fit that had tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "You _what?_ " he demanded.

"Shh!" Alfred said. "It's a surprise."

"What kind of surprise?" Ivan asked.

"Unless you're gonna help me with this Stats homework, shut your mouth," Matthew said, harsh and angry. He took a deep breath. "Sorry. Can anyone help me with this Stats homework? Feli?" he asked, eyes wide and pleading. Feliciano shook his head and wiped the chocolate crumbs from his mouth.

"Nope. I'm majoring in visual arts, I don't need to take a math course this year, I'm finished." He shrugged and took another small bite. "Sorry, Matthew."

"I took Statistics last year, I can help," Ivan said. "Feliciano? Mind if we switch seats?" Feliciano shrugged noncommittally and stood.

"Be my guest," he said, grandly gesturing to his hard, wooden chair. Ivan's lips twitched.

"Wait," Alfred whined. "Don't leave me, Vanya!"

"You brought this on yourself," Feliciano remarked, settling into his new, identical wooden chair. "I can put my arm around you though, just like him, if you want."

"Don't make fun of me." Alfred huffed, eyeing the math-inclined boys across the table with a hint of jealousy. He sniffed. "You know what, fine," he said, a note of mock bitterness touching his voice. "No homo, though, bro." Feliciano snorted and lifted his arm. Alfred leaned back, and let it settle comfortably around his shoulders once he was settled. It was almost comical, and a bit uncomfortable, with how much shorter and slimmer he was.

"Never," he promised, absently patting Alfred's shoulder. "Absolutely none."

"Culture!" The single, sharp word, accentuated by the harsh slap of a stack of folders against a table, was laced with the ridiculous theatric grace of a Shakespearian actor. The speaker, a tall man with pale skin and glossy raven hair, let his threatening gaze settle on every individual student in the classroom before continuing. "For the past six and a half months, one hour each day, five days each week, this is what you've studied. The nuances of how global development can influence it, the diversity of the modern world- tradition and change, past and present."

Feliciano slouched in his third-row seat and muffled a yawn. He'd stayed up too late the previous night, as he usually did, sketching out designs, procrastinating on homework, and the like. He stared up at the Prof and let out a tiny snicker. The man was an entertaining, eccentric figure, well-known throughout the school for his strange, foreign accent, his richly colored coats and shiny shoes. He had a last name, everyone was _fairly_ sure, but he'd never let it slip- on the first day of school, he insisted that everyone instead call him "The Professor". More often than not, though, the name was simply shortened to "the Prof" in polite conversation.

Rumor had it that the Prof had been offered a job at a local college as a young adult, before the offer was chalked up to a strange computer error. He'd grown attached to the title, though, despite never actually _having_ it, and he was far too pretentious to simply let it go when he downgraded to teaching classes at the closest high school.

Feliciano had made it his personal goal about a quarter through the school year to annoy the _shit_ out of him at every possible opportunity.

If that meant laughing at his absurd ensemble, he was absolutely down. Maybe that was just the lack of sleep speaking, he wasn't quite sure. Then again, he didn't quite care. The Prof's outfit of the day included what looked like a woman's coat that hugged his waist and draped to his mid-thighs (deep robin's egg blue, because gray is for cowards), black dress slacks, blacker shoes, and his absolute _favorite,_ a white ruffle of thin fabric that hung from the base of his throat and tapered off at the breast. In Feliciano's exhausted, hungry stupor, the only thing he could think of was a mildly offended exotic bird with its chest puffed out.

The snicker turned into a mute giggle. Feliciano hadn't processed a single word the Prof had said since the opening of his dramatic speech, he realized. He coughed and swallowed his laughter. Luckily, the Prof had been so absorbed in his own prattle that he hadn't noticed a thing.

"…the good news is that you will not have a final exam in my class. The bad news? This project will be worth your entire final exam grade."

Feliciano leaned forward, suddenly alert. Project? He hadn't zoned out for that long, had he?

"Now, since most of you are seniors, and the school board insists on teaching you how to work in… cooperative environments…" The Prof took off his wire-rimmed specs with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking both annoyed and incredibly distressed. "…I will be… assigning you two partners."

Feliciano was decidedly lost. He threw his hand up, and without waiting to be called, opened his mouth. "Professor, I got the majority of that," he said, pretending to ignore how the man suddenly stiffened and pivoted almost _comically_ slowly to face him. "But, uh, sir, could you repeat that whole section on what the actual project _is?_ "

The Prof clenched his jaw and sighed out through his nose, obviously very irritated. "Did you listen to a word of what I just said, Vargas?" he said stiffly.

"Yes! The majority of it, actually. I'd just like to be entirely clear on everything." Feliciano smiled, and nodded at the man encouragingly.

The Prof gave a tight smile. "I'm glad you're… taking initiative." He cleared his throat and fiddled with his elaborate neckpiece. Feliciano masked another bark of laughter with a strangled cough. "Your final project of the year is going to be a mock TED Talk, with a minimum length of twenty minutes. You will discuss, compare, and contrast the cultural development of at least two countries of your choice, from the 1950s to today. A more thorough explanation will be on the rubric. Entirely clear, Vargas?"

Feliciano nodded and flashed him an ok hand-sign. "Crystal," he confirmed. Somewhere further back, he heard an impatient cough.

The Prof sighed again. "Moving on…" he said wearily, shooting Feliciano a wary glance. "Now, we will have to discuss the matter of our in-class schedule. I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that unit thirteen was the last you'll be tested on in this class." He paused, raising an eyebrow at the classroom. A few students in the front row gave a half-hearted cheer. "However," he continued, "I am required by the board to put grades in the gradebook. So, every Tuesday and Thursday, I will give out a unit review that I expect you to finish in class. Mondays and Fridays will be mandatory work days. You will meet with your group and work quietly on your project. Wednesdays, you will be free to do whatever you wish, as long as it doesn't disturb other students. Any questions?"

Ten seconds ticked by. No one raised their hand. Fifteen. The Prof cleared his throat again. "I will now assign you to your group," he announced, whipping an ink-marked off his podium and waving it in the air. Feliciano leaned forward and squinted, trying to make out the names written in tiny, elegant script, but to no avail. Why did the Prof insist on hand writing everything, again? It just made everything more difficult. Feliciano puffed out his cheeks and leaned against his hand, knee bouncing anxiously underneath the table.

"Tino, Vargas, Natalia." Feliciano picked his head up and scanned the room, making brief eye contact with his partners- Tino, a pale senior with equally pale eyes and hair, but one of the sunniest, friendliest personalities Feliciano had ever seen, and Natalia, Ivan's younger sister. She was visually striking in every way, but also cold and standoffish- Feliciano had been lucky to get on her good side. He wiggled his fingers at her with a wink. She raised an eyebrow and very subtly flipped him off.

"Honda, Beilschmidt, Berwald." For such an extravagant man, Feliciano noted, the Prof was also painfully lazy. He called his students by whatever name of theirs was easiest to pronounce. Feliciano shifted in his seat, turning to look at the other students whose names had been called. Honda- _Kiku,_ as he was usually called, was nice enough. They shared an art class earlier in the day. Kiku was surprisingly content to just listen and draw while Feliciano rambled about nothing in particular without complaining which he appreciated. Berwald was tall, quiet, and awkward- bad at conversation, _painfully_ gay, unintentionally intimidating, but with a mature, golden heart that was rare among boys of their age.

The last one, though, Beilschmidt- Ludwig Beilschmidt-

Everything about the boy made Feliciano's blood boil. Every single thing, from his plain, boring glasses, to his blockish handwriting, to his gratingly deep voice, to his sharp, logical mind- Ludwig Beilschmidt was a callous, robotic coward, just like his father, just like he'd always been. Feliciano didn't hate easily- he believed in forgiveness, in free love, in good will, in second chances. But Ludwig Beilschmidt had proven, over and over and over, that he wasn't worthy of any of it.

It took Feliciano a few moments to realize he was glaring, and a few more to catch onto the fact that Ludwig was glaring back. Feliciano glared harder, and flipped a rude gesture in the other boy's direction before whipping back around to the front of the room and staring resolutely at the empty wall.

"…And that's it. Any questions?" the Prof asked. "Final call." The ostentatious man's chest was puffed out, head tilted up so he could look down his nose at them all. His hands were folded serenely around his crisp, ink-stained notes. Feliciano was suddenly struck with an idea, one that made him forget the rigid blonde a few seats behind him entirely. He lazily raised his hand, not bothering to mask the smug grin slowly spreading across his face.

"Professor?" he said, lacing his voice with a subtle sing-song tone that entertained no one but himself.

"Please wait until you are _called_ upon, Va-"

"Would it be alright if we used you in our project?" Feliciano interrupted, not bothering to put his hand down, internally laughing his _ass_ off at the offended shock on the Prof's face.

"Of course, I am a resource you may always use, the wealth of my knowledge is at your disposal, as it has been _all year,_ " the Prof ground out.

Feliciano set his raised arm back on his desk and gave a solemn nod, making a show of averting his gaze nervously and fidgeting with his hands. "It's just…" he started, then trailed off and took a deep breath. "Well, I want to address the renaissance fair in my project, how it developed and became a modern _thing,_ yeah? I just wanted to know if it was okay to consult you for reliable information, since you, uh…" Feliciano paused to choke back a giggle. The Prof still hadn't seemed to have caught on- he was listening intently, but there was an odd confused look on his face. He had all the pieces to the puzzle, he just needed one more to complete the picture. "Since you seem to know so much about the attire," Feliciano finished, looking pointedly at the man's peacock-blue vest.

The whole class was tense, Feliciano could feel it. From most, he got a general sense of _Oh shit, he went there_. But a few rows over, he saw Berwald hide his grin with a sharp cough. _Good man,_ he appraised. Then, he looked up, and the results. Oh, they were beautiful.

The Prof was wide-eyed and truly angry. One hand was clenched on his podium, the other had entirely crushed one side of his previously pristine notes. His face was a marvelous shade of puce that rivaled his grandpa's tomatoes.

"Feliciano Vargas." That was Feliciano's first clue- he got the vague feeling that he pushed a little too far this time. The wide grin began to slide from his face. The Prof would never report a student to the office, he valued his reputation too much. But at this moment, he looked truly threatening, and the realization that he didn't actually have the power here hit Feliciano like a sharp slap to the face. "You and Berwald switch groups."

But wait- that meant-

Feliciano had long since stopped grinning- he was too busy trying to remember which group Berwald had been in. He snuck a glance at the imposing teen, snapping his gaze back forward as soon as he saw the intense glare the other boy was giving him. Who-

No.

Feliciano turned around again, slowly this time, dread like ice hardening in the pit of his stomach. Kiku, the nice, quiet boy from art class, Berwald, the nice, quiet boy from _around,_ and him.

Ludwig Beilschmidt, who looked just as shocked and enraged as he felt. Who pushed little kids on the playground in elementary school, who mocked his paint-stained hands and rough notebook sketches in middle school and told him he'd end up just like his daddy, because artists have never been worth anything so he should just give up and start learning to wait tables-

Feliciano took a deep breath, in through his nose, out through clenched teeth. He cracked his knuckles with one hand, swallowing the disappointment that bubbled up when none popped. If the tension in the classroom had been at a ten when he made his wisecrack, it was easily a fifty now- dead silent, still as a photograph.

Feliciano let one more angry breath out through his nose and smoothed the angry lines from his face away with a tight smile. The Prof had done the worst thing he possibly could, but that didn't mean he won. No. This wouldn't be a victory for that stuck-up prick if he had anything to say about it. He would do an amazing job on his project. He'd work with Ludwig Beilschmidt, if he absolutely had to.

"Of course," he ground out. The Prof nodded sharply, still red in the face, and made to go sit down at his desk, but not without first sending Feliciano a smug look down his nose.

"You may assemble with your groups, now," the Prof called out to the rest of the class. Then, as a very clear warning, "Do not speak with _anyone_ except those in your group."

All of a sudden, the room was a flurry of activity. The rough metal feet of desks and chairs screeched against the polished tile floor as the students manning them arranged themselves into little huddled triangles. Feliciano instinctively cringed at the sound, for a brief moment forgetting that he was angry. He shook his head and stood, intending to move towards Kiku's desk. Instead, he walked straight into and bounced off of the chest of his rival.

"Move," he snapped, not even fazed, staring straight up into the boy's eyes. After a pause in which neither moved, he narrowed his eyes and shoved past, bag in tow. He ignored the hot glare on his back, opting to instead drop his bag beside Kiku's desk and push two together.

Kiku himself seemed a bit perturbed, and a _bit_ more terrified than his usual serenely calm self. Feliciano brushed aside the guilt that was beginning to bite its way up through his insides. He was still angry. Luckily, Kiku shook his head, and the emotion cleared away, leaving Feliciano's conscience slightly cleaner.

"Don't talk to me," he said, once the tall blonde had finished settling himself in. He didn't bother meeting the other boy's eyes, instead studying his nails.

"I wasn't planning on it, believe me," Ludwig grumbled, shuffling through his notebook.

Feliciano hummed disbelievingly in response, making no motion to get any notes of his own. He traced a few circles on his desk with his finger, and squinted at the shiny, wobbly shapes drawn in skin oil. He rubbed them away with his sleeve.

After a few minutes of tense silence, Kiku piped up. "Do either of you have ideas?" Feliciano shrugged. He didn't bother to look at Ludwig, but he assumed the other boy did something similar, because he didn't respond either. Feliciano closed his eyes, listening to the rapid, forceful clack of fingers beating steadily against an old-school computer keyboard.

The trio didn't speak for the rest of the period.

"I'm home!" Feliciano announced to the dark, empty foyer, slamming the front door with his foot.

No response echoed back. Feliciano wet his lips and opened his mouth, about to call out again. Then, he paused, thinking better of it, and clamped his jaw closed, shaking his head. He trudged to his room, passing the kitchen and giving the heaps of unwashed dishes a disappointed glance. He'd do those later, after he charged his phone.

As he neared his father's room, he lightened his tread. The house was dark for such a nice spring day, which must mean his father was sleeping. A quick peek confirmed his suspicions. Feliciano held his breath and crept past. He'd heard Augustus crying late into the night, and didn't want to disturb his rest, the man desperately needed it.

Once in his own room, he tossed his bookbag into the corner and hefted himself up to the top bunk of his bed. He was spent. The day had been too long and hard.

He missed Lovino. Usually, the elder boy would offer snarky advice when he complained, keep him in check. He could almost _feel_ the sting on the side of his head where Lovino would lightly smack him, and tell him to stop being cocky, being sweet can only get you so far. And Feliciano would lean over the side of the bunk and poke him on the head, and tell him that at least teachers _liked_ him for the most part. And then they would quit whatever they were doing and engage in a game of petty revenge after petty revenge, until Lovino was laughing on the floor, and Feliciano was laughing on the bed, and-

Feliciano turned on his side and pulled the pillow a little lower beneath his head. His pants pocket buzzed. A text from one of the twins- Matthew, this time.

 _You coming over tonight?_ it read. Feliciano paused to think before tapping out a response.

 _nope, aug sleeping and needs to keep sleeping, put leftovers in one of those little plastic things with a fork I'll eat it tomorrow_

The disappointment was obvious even over text, given how Matthew would start typing and then stop, and start and stop. Eventually, a response came through.

 _Okay. Tell him to go out to the store tomorrow when he wakes up, he does need to eat too_

Feliciano sent back a simple thumbs up emoji, and turned his phone off. Wooden floorboards creaked somewhere across the house. Feliciano ignored them.

Ludwig Beilschmidt. _Ludwig Beilschmidt._

Lovi was right again, Feliciano supposed, closing his eyes. He really did need to keep his mouth shut a little more often.

This was going to be a rough quarter.


	2. Week Two

_II._

"How long has it been since you've turned the page?" a deep, grating voice from across the table asked. The question was laced with tense, deep-set annoyance. Feliciano rolled his eyes and snapped the heavy tome shut.

"How about you do your own research instead of watching me do mine?" he snapped back, removing his feet from the top of the table and propping his elbows up instead. Ludwig watched the action with narrowed eyes and a barely-noticeable sniff of disdain. When he spoke again, it was at least five times more annoyed than before, by Feliciano's pleased calculation.

"I don't want to talk to you, much less argue with you." Ludwig flipped the page and made a note on his computer before locking eyes with Feliciano over the top of the screen. "What I want is to make a good grade on this project, and I can't do that if my group member isn't working."

Feliciano furrowed his eyebrows and leaned forward more, hot rage igniting in his belly. "If I remember correctly, I've kept a higher class average than you for the past four months," he spat. "So I'd shut my mouth and get back to wasting time on creating pretty charts in Microsoft Word, if I were you." He picked his book on Italian culture and sharply snapped it back open, maintaining eye contact with his blonde enemy all the while.

He heard a deep, shaky breath across the table, one probably meant to be calming. Then, slightly closer, a tired sigh and the dull thump of a heavy book against wood. Poor Kiku. Feliciano had to bite his lip to keep from sighing himself. He didn't like being angry. It made him feel heavy, and energetic in all the wrong ways, but at the same time, terribly drained.

The words underneath his fingers swam across the page, impossible to make any sense of. He blinked, and then squinted, trying to absorb anything at all. Instead, he found himself re-reading the same three lines over and over again, and not understanding a word.

This wasn't working. It hadn't been working for a while already, honestly. The sheet of notebook paper beside his right elbow had maybe four lines of notes sketched out, and it had been two hours.

Feliciano allowed himself a disappointed sigh, and turned the page, before picking up his battered mechanical pencil and pretending to jot something down.

He was acting like his older brother, he realized. Snappy, witty at a moment's notice, but… bitter, competitive. It wasn't right. The attitude, only present around the German kid, fit him like a too-small shirt.

Feliciano glanced at Kiku's laptop. He had at least two pages of notes already, that detailed Japan's rapid rise to economic power after the war. The fifties were already covered in their entirety. Feliciano pushed down the nervous competitiveness swelling in his chest, tearing his eyes away from the display and affixing them back to the text.

After a few more minutes of trying to get into his productive _flow_ , he felt his mind wandering back to Ludwig. He looked over the top of his book surreptitiously, observing the studious teen. He was entirely absorbed in his work, it seemed. Every half-minute, he'd lightly set down his book, careful to keep the heavy thump as quiet as possible, and type furiously on his computer for another fifteen seconds. Sometimes, he'd pause, gaze through the laptop screen for a few seconds, in deep thought, before resuming, just as furiously as before.

Feliciano wondered how much work he had done. And then he mentally slapped himself for being more preoccupied with his rival than his own work.

He mentally slapped himself again. He hadn't taken his medication that morning. Then again, he wasn't sure if his fathe-

If _Augustus_ had dropped by the pharmacy at any point within the past week, like he said he would.

He needed solitude to work. Being around people who were apparently more productive than him made him _less_ productive, if anything. Feliciano took a deep breath before standing and stuffing his small pile of books in his bag as well as his own laptop. He swung the bag over his shoulder and slammed the chair back under the table, grinning when he saw Ludwig jump. He only felt marginally less pleased with himself when his peripheral vision registered Kiku's start of surprise.

"I'm going to a quiet corner to study by myself," he announced.

Ludwig glanced up. "Go ahead, your empty head and…" He trailed off, eyes sliding down to the sheet of paper in his hand. "empty notes… won't be missed."

Feliciano clenched his fist around the sheet of paper and smiled wide, making sure not to let it reach his eyes. "Your thick-skulled one won't be either, don't worry," he reassured the other boy, who stared at him for a few seconds, seemingly issuing some sort of unspoken challenge. "I'll update you two on my status at school tomorrow. Have a good night!"

"Keep up, Vargas," Ludwig muttered, eyes back on his book.

"I'm glad you're worried about me, truly," Feliciano said, sarcasm openly dripping from his words. "But I'm a competent worker." He adjusted his bag and kept walking, looping around the other end of the table to furtively glance at Ludwig's document.

 **PAGE 3 OF 3 1355 WORDS**

Feliciano clenched his jaw, this time letting the anger settle in his stomach, feeling it simmer and fizz like hot embers in cold water. He swallowed. He walked away.

He'd show them both up.

"What colleges have you been accepted to, again?" Augustus asked. A wide, tired smile rested beneath his nose, appearing somewhat forced. His wild, dark brown curls were smushed against his head, as if he'd just woken up. Feliciano paused, wiping his fingers off on his napkin, trying to come up with a suitable answer.

"None that you'll know of," he said carefully. "Most of them are out-of-state arts colleges." He looked away. "I'm keeping my options open just in case, but my top pick offered me a full ride," he admitted. Augustus perked up at that, his smile becoming genuine.

"Oh, really?" he said. He looked more energetic and… happy than he had in ages. "Please tell me it's a community college, son." Feliciano hid a wince.

"No, out-of-state," he said, fixatedly staring at his bowl of linguine to avoid seeing Augustus' face fall. It didn't help. His imagination easily provided him with a substitute. He fiddled with a hangnail under the table anxiously. "California," he said, quieter.

"That's hours away by plane!" Augustus protested. "Why can't you just stay here and study, Feliciano? It's close to home, and everyone knows art degrees aren't worth much no matter where they come from!"

Feliciano swallowed, still refusing to look up. "I know I won't be able to visit often," he said, "but college will be free. Isn't that worth it? It's only four years, after that I'll move closer again."

The table was silent for a tense minute save for the clinking of forks and spoons against ceramic bowls. Feliciano finally looked up, guiltily. Augustus was deep in thought, it seemed, and visibly scared of whatever was lurking in his head.

"Feli, my boy," he said, voice wavering. "Lovino's already out-of-state, and this house is too big for me to live in alone."

"Sell it then, get an apartment," Feliciano bit out. "You pay too much for this one and you know it." He immediately regretted his words. Augustus' eyes filled with tears.

"This is all I have left!" he said, bottom lip trembling. "After we were pushed out… the memories, it's all I have, I can't leave!" A tear streaked down his cheek, and then another. Feliciano looked away again, trying for his own sake not to allow the guilt-trip to get to him.

"You're using the family money to pay the bills, papá," he said. "You need to get your job back, you need a smaller space to clean, you need a place that won't remind you of her."

He saw Augustus shake his head out of the corner of his eye. But the man said nothing, just pushed his barely-eaten bowl of pasta away and stared at the portrait on the far side of the room. Feliciano pressed his lips together, trying to come up with something, anything, that could change the subject.

"How long has it been since you've been out?" he blurted, a half-formed memory dusting itself off somewhere in the back of his head.

"I went to the grocery store just today!" Augustus said, looking somewhat offended. He'd wiped the tears from his face at some point. Now, the skin around his eyes was splotchy and red.

"No, papá," Feliciano said, shaking his head. "I don't mean out of the house. I mean out for fun."

The gaping silence told him all he needed to know.

"You used to love the opera, didn't you?" he said softly. "You took Mamma out there every anniversary." He paused, noting Augustus' trembling fingers, and decided not to push the subject of his mother anymore. "Tickets for the show next month are discounted for students at my school, I'll get two, okay?"

"I don't-" Augustus said, looking torn. Feliciano cut him off.

"We're going to go to the opera together, papá!" he said, mustering up as much happiness as he could. He smiled at the man, whose tight curls were grey at the roots, whose eye bags were purple, pushing black. He stood, trying to imagine the best-case-scenario, and laughed. "We can fit you with a suit!" he said, dancing to his father's side and grabbing the man's rough hands. Augustus stood up without much of a struggle. Feliciano hid his shock. He'd been expecting his father to resist and insist on moping with his head in his hands.

"We can go to that gelato shop you love after the show- oh, and I'll cook us dinner beforehand! There are tons of fancy recipes I've wanted to try making- but you have to have the fire department on speed-dial, because I've never really made a pan, you know, _fwoosh_ ," he babbled, letting go of Augustus' hands and miming an explosion with his own. "But I don't think it'll be much of a problem, really, because you and Mamma were naturally good at cooking, right? Well, Lovino didn't get it as much, but that's okay because he's good at sculpting- papá, did I ever show you the secret picture I took of his human body project last year? I never knew he admired the male figure so much, that torso, not to mention the ass, was _heavily_ _idealized._ "

And suddenly, Augustus burst out laughing. Huge, rumbling chuckles that shook his shoulders and forced him to brace his hands on his knees else he'd topple face-first to the ground. He hadn't laughed like this in ages, and it was healing, almost, to see the man happy. Feliciano couldn't stop the grin that spread across his own face. His nonsensical ramblings were good for something, after all.

"Feliciano," Augustus said, after the uncontrollable laughter subsided. He stood up to his full height, made somewhat less impressive by his horribly wrinkled shirt and stained sweatpants, a wide smile still plastered to his face. Though his dark circles were just as prominent as before, the corners of his eyes were crinkled with mirth. "Thank you." Tears filled his eyes again, but this time, they were prideful. Augustus shook his head and pulled Feliciano sharply into his arms. "I'm so lucky to have a son as wonderful and caring as you," he sighed, squeezing harder. Feliciano squeaked in surprise, unable to come up with a response. "I'll go see the opera with you."

Feliciano didn't reply for a good few seconds, instead trying to process what had just occurred. He… Augustus… was acting like his father again. He bit his lip and turned head into his father's chest, trying to hide his overjoyed smile. "You'll love it," he promised, and finally hugged back, with as much enthusiasm as he remembered having as a kid.

He pulled out his phone as soon as he got back to his room, completely ignoring the ten new texts from Alfred (and the one complimentary apology from his twin brother), and selected his own brother's name with shaking fingers.

 _lovi he's getting better  
he's finally getting better  
he laughed at me today and we're going to go out to the opera next month  
I can't believe it_

 **Seen, 7:58 PM**

 **Needs Good Dick is typing…**

Feliciano turned his phone off and threw it up to his bed, then leapt onto the top bunk himself. He rolled over onto his back, and closed his eyes, images of a future where Augustus was happy again, where he was his old self again, danced behind his eyelids.

Things were looking up.

It was as if Ludwig _wanted_ to show him up at every turn.

When Feliciano walked into the classroom, the boy had already arranged the group's desks into a triangle of sorts, with two desks pressed up against each other and another pushed up against the side, an afterthought. His laptop was on, his notebook was open, two mechanical pencils (with not-nubby erasers, Feliciano noticed bitterly) sat calmly to the side. Poor Kiku already looked stressed.

"Ah, Feliciano," Ludwig said, tone bored. "You're finally here. Did you get the notes you said you would on Monday?"

Feliciano ground his teeth and sat with a thump in the desk across Ludwig and began to unpack his things, avoiding the other boy's pointed stare.

"What do you want?" he finally snapped at the other boy. Ludwig raised an annoyed eyebrow.

"I asked if you got your notes done," he said coldly. "You seemed confident in your ability to complete your work Monday afternoon."

"Of course I did, asshole," Feliciano muttered, reaching into his bag and pulling out a stack of at least ten pages of notes, all typed and printed. "Covered up to the late nineties. You?"

"Me? I'm finished. I'm ready to start writing the script," Ludwig said, triumphant gaze boring into his. Feliciano huffed and rolled his eyes. _Showoff._ Ludwig sat back, and turned his head towards their other, much quieter group member. "How are you doing, Kiku?" he asked, sounding infinitely softer and nicer.

"M-me?" Kiku said. He seemed surprised to even be addressed. Ludwig nodded and offered a small, friendly smile. "W-well," he stuttered, looking back and forth between the two nervously. "I've only covered through the early 2000's, but I'm sure we can start writing a script with what we have." Ludwig nodded, satisfied.

"I trust you can remain civil enough to get work on our project done, _Feliciano?_ " the tall blonde asked, spitting his name out condescendingly enough to make even the Prof cringe away.

Feliciano sat forward, insulted and enraged. "Excuse me?" he demanded. "You act as if I'm the only one who starts shi- stuff. Shut up. Take your own advice." He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, cocking his head in such a way that one would assume a challenge had been issued.

"Oh, come on," Ludwig said with a scoff. "Can't you keep it together just for this period?"

"Uh—" Kiku said, but was cut off by another rapid-fire comeback.

"I don't know, Ludwig! Can you? If you haven't noticed, I haven't started jack _shit_ today."

"Please—" Kiku tried again.

"Yes, you're _entirely_ innocent."

"Did I ever say I was?"

"Stop behaving like children!" Kiku hissed. Feliciano shut his mouth with a snap and sat heavily back in his chair, refusing to look at either member of his group. Eventually, he gave in and snuck a peek out of the corner of his eye. Kiku had his head propped in his hands and was vigorously rubbing his temples, looking a lot like a tired parent. Ludwig was furiously scribbling in the margins of his notes, red-faced. Whether it was out of anger or shame or embarrassment, he couldn't tell.

"Please…" Kiku said, lifting his head and clasping his hands in front of him. "Let's just get to work. We have a long script to write."

Feliciano murmured his assent, and heard Ludwig do the same.

They worked steadily for the rest of the period.

To Feliciano's surprise, when the bell rang, Kiku grabbed his shoulder before he could flee the building.

"I need to talk to you," the short boy said solemnly. Feliciano frowned, but nodded.

"Let's walk, then," he said, looking pointedly at the Prof, who was staring him down.

"I agree," Kiku said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. The two remained quiet until they reached the hallway. "It's about the project," Kiku said, looking up into his eyes.

Feliciano rubbed his eyes with one hand. "What about it?" he said tiredly. "The fact that I can't get any work done because of Ludwig, or the fact that that _asshole_ is insanely infuriating in every way, what?"

There was a long stretch of tense silence between them where Kiku looked away, considering his words.

"It's… related to that," he finally said, refusing to make eye contact again. Feliciano frowned. "I'm sorry if I say this wrong, but… if we're going to…" Kiku cleared his throat. "If we're going to make a good project… no, that sounds bad…"

Feliciano rolled his eyes. "Just say it, I won't get mad," he promised. Kiku nodded and took a deep breath, actually coming to a halt in the middle of the hallway and turning so he could give him a direct, serious stare.

"If you want to make a good grade on this project, you're going to have to get over your differences with Ludwig for now. We can't work efficiently as a group if you're constantly at each other's throats," the shorter boy said confidently.

Feliciano crossed his arms, defiant. "We would work together fine if he didn't take every opportunity to start new shit with me!" he yelled. "I swear, every time I walk into that classroom, he's right there, staring at me with that stupid raised eyebrow of his, fuckin' mocking me or whatever, 'oh look it's seventh period, hey, guess what I have that labeled as in my multi-compartmented planner that also happens to be color-coded with colors that didn't even _exist_ until I was born, _Piss off Feliciano Hour!_ Let's make sure he leaves school thinking about all the good comebacks he could have snapped back with, huh- _'"_

"Stop," Kiku said, reaching out and grabbing Feliciano's shoulders with both hands. "For the love of Zelda, just _stop._ " Feliciano slumped and then laughed, all the anger built up from his rant oozing out his body like steam from a tea kettle once the lid was removed.

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his face with weary hands. "You just- you didn't go to elementary school with him, Kiku, you have no clue what he's like. We've been at odds since we met, pretty much, that's never changed."

Kiku shook him, just lightly enough to get his attention. "Your relationship to each other may not have changed," he said, ignoring Feliciano's groan at the word 'relationship', "but he might have. I share a computer class with him, and he's usually much more mild-mannered there, even friendly. It seems the only person he has a problem with is you." Feliciano snorted derisively. Typical. "But you could be the bigger person and change that. For the sake of our grades. Please. At the very least, just… try being a little nicer, don't insult him as much? Eventually, tensions will decrease."

"Being the bigger person is boring," Feliciano announced, stepping out of Kiku's grip and turning to walk away. He took a deep breath through his nose and turned back, though, just long enough to add one more thing. "I'll try," he said, trying not to let the bitter taste those words left on his tongue show on his face. "But I won't guarantee anything. Especially if Mr. I'm-gonna-work-for-BMW doesn't take the hint and back off when I do. Happy?"

Kiku smiled, his relief and genuine happiness pinking his cheeks. He gave a small goodbye wave. "Very," he said. Feliciano scoffed and turned back, grinning himself.

At least he'd made an ally. Maybe.

That Saturday, he drove himself over to the twins' house, as he usually did. He greeted their fathers with a simple "Hello Mr. Arthur and M. Francis!" and a wide grin before bounding up the stairs and throwing the twins' bedroom door with a bellowed, " _It's ya boy!_ "

Alfred, who had been flipping through a few old comics on the bottom bunk at the time, hurled the flimsy paperbacks at the wall out of sheer shock and sat straight up into an unfortunately placed slat of wood. "Aw, _shit,_ " he moaned, clutching his nose.

"Oh, hey, Feli," Matthew said in a bored monotone, not even glancing up from his phone. He flicked his eyes over to his brother, who was still bemoaning his bruised face. "How are you not used to this by now," he muttered in his twin's direction. "He comes over every Saturday."

"Well I'm _sorry,_ " Alfred hissed. "I only keep track of what day it is during the week! Countdown to Friday, I'm done!" He gave his now bright red nose one last furious rub and swung his feet off the bed.

"You'd think, though, by now, your brain would recognize some sort of pattern- Hey Al, it's your brain knocking, hmm, it's the beginning of the weekend, oh yeah, Feli's coming over!" Matthew argued, illustrating his point with animated arm movements Feliciano couldn't make heads or tails of. His phone slipped from his grasp and smacked facedown on the floor. "Oh, fuck," he muttered.

Feliciano blinked.

"Oh, I'm _sorry,_ Matthew, I don't work with subconscious logic as well as you, stupid AP math student. But you know what? I have a boyfriend. Suck it."

Feliciano leaned on the doorway, enjoying the show, as Matthew surged forward, phone entirely forgotten, and pinned his brother to the bed with his forearm on Alfred's collarbone. The two tussled for a good minute or so before Feliciano spoke up again.

"Alright, you two have fun doing whatever that is, but I'm going to go play Super Smash Bros," he said, pointing back downstairs with his thumb. "See ya."

Alfred shoved his twin to the floor with a huge, dramatic gasp that muffled Matthew's grunt of pain. "Smash bros?" he said, looking startlingly similar to a puppy who'd been promised a treat. "Out of my way, bitches! Samus is _mine_!" he bellowed, shoving Feliciano to the side in his mad dash downstairs.

Matthew sat up, still groaning. "That's… one way to break up a fight, I guess," he said under his breath. Feliciano grinned.

"I'll beat you to player two," he said, before diving downstairs himself.

"Fuck you!" Matthew called. Feliciano laughed.

True to his word, he beat Alfred's more mild-mannered twin to the second player controller. He proceeded to get his ass beat by said mild-mannered twin (who had the mouth of a sailor when driven to competition), but won a decent few rounds against Alfred (who blamed it on his injured nose).

Then he went home, having eaten a warm, filling meal at his friends' house, and sketched the figures of dancers long into the night.

And thus, a fairly shitty week ended on a fairly good note.


	3. Week Three

_Because I was so late with the second chapter, I think it's only fair that I publish this chapter a little early. Enjoy!_

* * *

A tersely polite interaction with Feliciano's group mates on Monday bore an uncomfortable set of plans that included driving himself to Ludwig's house to work on their project.

And he hated it, but Feliciano could only blame himself. (He may or may not have gotten himself banned from the library. Something about volume and destruction of public property. None of which was intentional. At all.)

Now, he found himself behind the wheel of his father's car, driving down a straightforward road that stirred distantly familiar memories somewhere in the back of his head. Laughter. Smiles. Green grass, cool drinks, scraped knees, whiny prepubescent voices…

Feliciano's grip around the steering wheel tightened. The worn leather creaked under his fingers. He took a deep breath in, and let it out through his nose.

"4326… 4328…B?" Feliciano muttered, leaning against the wheel to peer at the address numbers. "Where's the A?" he wondered aloud, a confused crease in his brow. He shook his head. That was entirely unimportant. He glanced down at his phone's GPS again, branding the address to the forefront of his mind. If he had to have the pleasure of going to the Beilschmidt residence for schoolwork, he'd keep its location archived for… future use. Was egging houses illegal? Are police officers capable of pulling prints from shattered eggshells? Was egging his house too little? He wouldn't go as far as arson, but if he could sneak in through a window-

Fanciful thinking, he thought, dismissing the unlawful (yet enticing) ideas. He'd be lucky to get out of the house long enough to get eggs from the store, drive to Ludwig's house, use said eggs for target practice with Ludwig's window as the prime target, dispose of the evidence, and return home.

4384\. There it is. 4384 Dickhole Lane. Feliciano rolled to a stop in front of the large house. It was just as white, blockish, and snobbishly smooth as he remembered. Feliciano pulled into the driveway, where a tiny, run-down little Honda built at some point before 1989 already sat. Must be Kiku's. It was cute. Fit him, in a way. Compact, efficient, long history of inconvenient breakdowns.

Feliciano stopped opening the door for a few seconds to process, shocked at that abrupt wandering thought. It was… harsh. Mean. And maybe, aimed at Ludwig, it would be appropriate. But… Kiku? He didn't deserve that.

He'd been around Ludwig too much, he decided. It was souring his personality in a manner not unlike milk left to rot and curdle in the sun. A wave of long-simmering bitterness clenched his heart, and then his throat. Feliciano forced it away with a violent shake of his head and grabbed his computer bag, sliding out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

Ludwig had told him to just walk in and get to his room as fast as possible ("The second floor room pressed into the left hand corner closest to the road," which was a convoluted and frankly shitty way to put it, he thought), knock three times, and wait for someone else to open the door before entering.

But then, Feliciano saw a tree. It was so conveniently placed, and _so_ conveniently built. The branches were easily reachable and sturdy enough to climb, and even better, the tree twisted right up to what he assumed to be Ludwig's bedroom window. What was that thought he'd had about sneaking through windows?

Feliciano looked around, furtively scanning the area for other people who may be outside, before securing his over-the-shoulder bag and hauling himself up into the tree. He wasted no time scrabbling to the top, and pressing his body flush against the branch as soon as the bedroom was in view.

It was as tidy as he could have expected—which was exactly too tidy. The walls were blank and a harsh shade of white. The whole room looked like a picture straight out of a modern home design magazine. It didn't look real, or lived in, or… anything. It felt empty. Feliciano scrunched his nose in disgust, and scooted up the branch a little more to look for his groupmates.

Oh.

They were sitting together on the bed, doing what looked like… notes? Reading notes? Ludwig's back was to him, but he could see Kiku clearly. He seemed relaxed. From the slight slouch in Ludwig's shoulders, Feliciano assumed he was, too.

Kiku said something- Feliciano couldn't hear it through the glass, but the muddled sound had a rising lilt that made it sound like a question. Ludwig looked down and tapped his wrist, where his digital watch lit up, displaying a simple black and white homescreen. Simple. Stupid.

Ludwig dropped his arm and slumped further, appearing to deflate somewhat.

Feliciano grinned and reached out to the windowpane with one hand, keeping the other wrapped tightly around his branch, and banged on the glass as loudly as he could, shouting, "Open the fuck up, it's hot!"

The results were immediate, and fantastic. Ludwig leapt from his relaxed position on the bed, in his shock completely losing his footing and crashing hard against the floor. He whipped his head around to the window, white as the empty walls, startled terror in his eyes- which soon morphed to rage as he recognized his rival. Feliciano rolled his eyes and tapped his wrist, exaggeratedly mouthing, "Hurry up."

After a tense few seconds in which Ludwig's face grew a startling shade of reddish purple, Kiku unfroze and hurried forward to unlatch the window and throw it open.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, keeping an agitated eye on Feliciano's loose grip. He fidgeted, then thrust a hand out, offering assistance. "You're going to fall and break your neck!" he insisted.

Feliciano rolled his eyes and swatted the hand away, unwrapping his legs from where they were loosely furled around the branch and, tightening his fingers around the sturdy limb just above, swinging forward so he sat comfortably on the windowpane, feet inside the room. He gave a cocky wink to Ludwig, who still hadn't moved from his undignified position on the floor. His nostrils flared, carving appalled lines into his cheeks. "No hands, he whispered, letting go. Kiku's eyes widened, and in a particularly out-of-character action, he rushed forward and hauled Feliciano into the room with all his strength, in the process slamming his head against the window.

"Are you stupid?" Kiku said, frantic and what could almost be… angry? Less _angry_ angry, and more distressed-mother angry. He took several steps backwards and crossed his arms, looking incredibly disappointed.

"Probably, yeah," Feliciano said, rubbing his forehead, where he was sure a painful knob would develop the next day. He winced. "Ow."

Finally, Ludwig scrambled to his feet and pointed a trembling finger at his nose, opening and closing his mouth like he was trying to say something. "That's not a door!" he finally exploded, accentuating his point with a sharp jab at his face.

"Nope, not really," Feliciano replied, an easy grin on his face. It faltered for a hesitant second. Didn't Kiku say they should try to be civil today? He quickly threw the smile back on, and held up a hand. "Shh," he said, stopping Ludwig in his tracks. "I think your dad's home, and I didn't think it would be… uh… ideal if he saw me. I adapted," he lied, and shrugged. "I mean, you agree, don't you?"

Ludwig's eye twitched, and he opened his mouth to say something else, but Kiku stepped forward and placed a firm, discouraging hand on his forearm. "No," he warned. Ludwig struggled to swallow his words for a few seconds (no doubt they were sharp), but eventually, he slumped and stepped back.

"Get your dirty shoes off my sheets, and show me what you've done," he gritted out, trudging back to his spot on the bed and sitting with a huffing thump.

Feliciano flashed a thumbs up at Kiku, who rolled his eyes, and whipped his computer out. "Gladly," he said. "Now, I know we were supposed to do more individual research on our own countries, and I did that, that's done. But I did do a little extra, too, to maybe get… I don't know? I'd probably have a different perspective than you guys, because we're all so different. So I did some research on Japan and Germany, too, at least the early years after World War Two," he rambled, snapping open his computer and double-clicking a Word document he had saved in the top right-hand corner of the desktop.

"Are you saying my research is incompetent?" Ludwig asked, suspiciously narrowing his eyes. Feliciano held his hands up in the universal gesture for surrender.

"Not at all!" he promised. "If I wanted to insult you, Ludwig, I wouldn't insult Kiku, too- and I'd target something that you actually are shit at. Come on, I know you're smart, use that brain of yours." He sent a bright grin Ludwig's way, internally relishing in the look of bewilderment he was sporting. Maybe he should try double-sided compliments more often. "Anyway, what I meant is that we think differently. Maybe something you'd think is insignificant isn't actually insignificant, and would tie all of our presentations together nicely. You never know."

"Uh," Ludwig said, eyebrows still knotted together, obviously confused.

"Interesting," Kiku said. "Please continue." He looked semi-relieved, as if a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Gladly. So, we all know that culture isn't very straightforward. It's shaped by every part of society, right? Traditions, politics, daily life, the arts, the types of jobs that are highly popular… which directly ties into free time, the availability of holidays, family life, religion… it's all super complicated."

"We know that," Ludwig said irritably. "We listen in class."

"That's nice. I don't," Feliciano dismissed. "It was an introduction to what I'm about to say next, anyway. Obviously, war is something that throws off the culture of any nation or state or both, but especially if said country was an active participant in the war, and its land was fought upon. It changes things. There's reconstruction to take into account, political and physical and economic… Especially after the second world war, when the entire government was spun on its… forgive me, its axis, and reformed.

"The most notable of the Axis powers is probably Germany... or what was left of it, I guess. Well." Feliciano tilted his head, considering his words. "It's notable because that's what they teach us in school before moving onto the Cold War, and the other two are kind of left out, but whatever. Anyway, you two obviously know about how the country was divided among the Allies, yeah. The Berlin Wall was a thing. My main point here is that the country was divided between communism and capitalism and shit, "freedom" and "cold bleakness" or however they frame it here in America. So, you know, culture developed and grew… I guess separately? And… that would be a good thing to focus on in the… presentation," Feliciano finished lamely.

"You were doing alright there for a little while," Ludwig said, sounding bored. "But I've already taken dozens of notes on that."

Feliciano made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and wrung his hands in front of him. "No, I don't think you understand," he said. "Let's just—let's just trade notes. We can fill in what we don't see already there."

Ludwig opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, Feliciano saw Kiku's hand tighten around the other boy's forearm just slightly.

"An excellent idea," Kiku said, serene. "Trade to the right? I'll give you mine first, we can spend ten minutes with each."

Feliciano had to hide a grin when he noticed Ludwig's clenched jaw. This was fun.

"Absolutely," he agreed.

"Hey, bitch," Feliciano greeted.

"Hey yourself, tiny bitch."

"I'm literally taller than you."

"Doesn't make you not-tiny."

Feliciano laughed out loud at that, collapsing back against his mountain of pillows. "I missed talking to you, Lovi," he said, a smile in his words.

"Uh-huh," came the deeper voice from within his phone. "Doubt that. I think you just missed talking to someone with a sharp tongue."

Feliciano rolled over with a huff. "Fuck you."

"That was weak. Also, disgusting."

"I hate you," Feliciano complained. "I just wanted to tell you about my life, and here you are, accusing me of heinous thoughtcrime."

"You made that stretch yourself," Lovino said. "But go ahead." A touch of concern colored his words. "How's Augustus doing? Is he alright?" Feliciano wrinkled his nose.

"Alright is an overstatement, but better," he admitted. "Still bugs me about wanting me to go to community college, still terrified of living alone… But… he's acting more human? I guess? I think he's finally starting to come out of that… depressive haze, I guess. He seems excited about the opera."

Lovino hummed approvingly. "Good," he said. "Keep me updated. And if you need help, and I can't give it to you—"

"—I know, I know, Arthur and Francis," Feliciano said. "You've told me a thousand times before."

"And Arthur's a lawyer!" Lovino said. "If he needed to, he could get you out of there like that!"

"I think you're forgetting the small fact that I'm a legal adult," Feliciano said, dry as bone. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "It's fine, Lovi," he said. "If I need to, I'll go to them. But you first. Happy?"

"Yes," Lovino said. "Very." His voice took on a tired, warning edge. "Feliciano, don't just believe he's fixed. Recovery takes a long time when you lose someone that close to you. I understand wanting to hope, but don't… don't put everything in it." Feliciano barely had time to process the advice before Lovino started talking again. "So. Tell me about the pasty-ass hoe's little bro. I hope you embarrassed him for me." Feliciano snorted.

"Of course," he said. "What else would I do?"

"I don't know," Lovino said, drawing out the words in a suggestive manner. "Maybe—"

"I'm not so lonely that I'd turn to that, you dick," he scorned. "Muscle means nothing on that man." Feliciano shuddered. In the background, his brother was roaring with laughter.

"You sound a bit defensive," Lovino managed to squeeze out in-between breaths.

"Oh, really," Feliciano said, sitting straight up and feigning surprise. "How would you react if I suggested you were fucking Gilbert, huh?" He heard a strangled choking noise on the other line and snorted. "Exactly."

"Shut your whore mouth," his brother said. "I'm not the one in this family who'll fuck anything with two legs."

"Excuse me," he protested, pulling the phone away from his ear and jabbing uselessly at the screen with his pointer finger. "It's called pansexual, not everything-sexual." He grumbled to himself for a moment before tacking on, "Ass."

"Right, right, whatever. Oh- shit," Lovino swore, voice distant, as if he'd pulled his mouth away from the phone entirely. "I gotta go, Feli," he said, words rushed. "Apparently this report's due tonight instead of tomorrow, and I have to write the last four pages before 11:59 pm, so I'll talk to you later."

"Hah," Feliciano said. "Procrastinator."

"Why do I even put in the effort," Lovino muttered, seemingly to himself, before the call abruptly ended. Feliciano pulled the phone away from his ear again, smiling. He felt content.

It was the kind of contentedness that felt like a full stomach. He felt sated. Somehow, despite his brother's prickly exterior, Lovino was good at bringing people down to earth, reminding them that it's all going to be okay, without even saying a word. Or maybe he was actually shit at that, and Feliciano was imagining it all. Either way, Lovino's presence was comforting.

Feliciano slid down the ladder to his top bunk with a huff and slipped his phone into his back pocket. It must be around dinnertime by now, where was Augustus with his nightly announcement that food was ready?

Feliciano peeked out the door, and, seeing no one, padded downstairs and into the kitchen. The room was empty and dark, lit only by the lamp in the corner and the glass-shielded light hanging down from the middle of the kitchen ceiling.

A pang of empty disappointment struck him in the chest, leaving him almost breathless. There weren't even any pans out—what was Augustus planning to do for dinner? Order out? It was possible, but something told him he was wrong. Feliciano squared his jaw and spun on his heel, striding out of the kitchen and slamming Augustus' door open. Sure enough, there he lay, in a stained white tank top and athletic shorts, hair a complete mess, cheek smushed against his pillow—he was dead asleep. The curtains on the far side of the room were drawn. The whole space felt oppressive and smothering, like a fabric cage.

The lump of discomfort and fear in his throat was quickly dissolved by hot rage. Feliciano tore forward, ripping the thin blanket off his father's body.

"Are you serious?" he screamed. His shoulders were shaking. Augustus blearily opened his eyes, blinking the sleep away. He obviously wasn't all there, but Feliciano refused to hold back anymore. "You're supposed to be my _father_ ," he hissed. "You're supposed to be there for me. You're supposed to fucking _feed_ me, at the very least."

"Wha..?" was all Augustus managed.

"All you do is sit in here and sleep all day," Feliciano said, holding the blanket just out of Augustus' reach. "You sleep, and you slobber onto your pillow, and you _cry_. And you complain about not wanting to lose me after you lost Mom and Lovi, but guess what? You're on the fast track to doing that already." Feliciano closed his mouth sharply, jaw trembling uncontrollably. He wiped angrily at his eyes, but no matter how much he rubbed at them, the tears kept coming.

"You told me you were going to get better," Feliciano whispered. Augustus just blinked up at him, not comprehending. "You told me you'd get me dinner every day, at least. That's all I want. And then we can work from there. But it seems you can't stop crying about a woman who'll never be here to love you again. I could be here to love you, Papá. But you keep clinging to her. She's fucking _dead_."

And with that, Feliciano let out a strangled sob and fled, rejection curling up in his chest like a venomous snake.

Feliciano considered skipping school the next day. He felt like absolute shit. After his one-sided argument with Augustus, he'd gone straight to his room and cried, forgetting about food completely. He considered texting his brother, but Lovino wouldn't be able to make him feel better. He'd just sigh and mutter about how he knew this was going to happen.

His stomach roared. The alarm clock beeped periodically, gently reminding him that it was time to get ready for school. Feliciano groaned and rolled over. The beeping became louder, more insistent. Feliciano shoved his head under his pillow. The beeping turned into monotonous blaring, harsh against his ears and so incredibly aggravating that in a flash of impulsive anger, he seized it and hurled it with all his strength against the far wall, where it crashed and fell to the already messy floor in hundreds of sparking pieces.

Feliciano's stomach churned. He lay back down and curled into himself, arms clenched around his middle. He stayed in that position until little rays of piercing sunlight peeked through the curtains, making it so he couldn't ignore the oncoming day any more.

Eventually, he decided to go. He just would try to avoid talking to people, or doing much of anything that wasn't schoolwork. He could mooch off everyone else's lunch. Luckily, it was a Thursday, and he would be left alone to work on his unit review.

And so that's what happened. Feliciano sat himself in the back corner whenever he could, working harder than any of his teachers remembered, not talking to anyone. At lunch, no one questioned his sour mood, only sent him reassuring or concerned glances. He appreciated their silence.

When seventh period rolled around, the whole class seemed to sense his dark mood and avoided him entirely. Well. Everyone except for Ludwig, who didn't act any differently at all. In a strange way, Feliciano appreciated it. And then mentally slapped himself, for appreciating anything related to that bitch.

He filled out his unit review and handed it in in silence, then returned to his seat and put his head in his arms. He'd been mostly numb all day, but now emotions were starting to flood back. Rejection. Fear. Sorrow. Guilt. Disappointment. He clenched his jaw. Not at school. Not at school. Not in front of Ludwig. Don't be fucking weak in front of him.

It was a struggle, but Feliciano strangled the emotions back down to deal with later. He took a deep breath and sat up. He felt heavy. Just… heavy.

After a few minutes of just sitting at his desk, bored, pulled out his sketchbook and started drawing. He wasn't even sure what, at this point. It was just wild, sketchy lines. Feliciano let the world around him fade out and focused all his attention on the drawing in front of him. It looked to be in the shape of a face, with a solid jawline, strong nose, and sunken, empty eyes. The lips were thin, the brows were thick, the hair a mess of choppy curls.

Feliciano slammed his pencil down and ripped the page out. He was drawing Augustus. Fucking Augustus. He put his head in his hands.

So absorbed in his brooding, he wasn't at all expecting to feel, out of nowhere, a warm, heavy, broad hand on his shoulder. He squeaked, freezing in place. The hand didn't move. Feliciano slowly lifted his head from his hands and turned around. Then, again, he froze, but this time in shock.

Ludwig cleared his throat, cheeks reddening with embarrassment, and snapped his hand back to his side. "You are coming over afterschool, correct?" he said, settling back into his serious face and perfect posture.

Feliciano let out a long breath and let his head fall back into his hands. "Shit," he muttered. "Yeah, fuck it. I'll see you at four, I guess." Somewhere to his left, he heard polyester rub against cotton as Ludwig shifted uncomfortably. Or so he assumed. Then, the soft thump of fading footsteps. When he turned to look back, Ludwig was at his desk, fully absorbed in his work again. Weird.

After class, Kiku approached him again.

"What is it this time?" Feliciano said, refusing to make eye contact. "Am I still not being cooperative enough, or something? I'm trying, okay? No matter how much you act like some sort of peacekeeper, we're not just going to stop hating each other overnight."

"I said nothing," Kiku said. Feliciano turned around to face him. His head was tilted, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. "Don't make assumptions. I just wanted to ask if you could provide a ride to Ludwig's house, and maybe I could buy us some food on the way there. Is that all right?"

Feliciano let go of the tension in his balled fists and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Kiku. Of course I can give you a ride. I'm… not doing good today," he apologized. Why was he telling him this? He had other people he could go to. The kid from his art class who didn't look like he could feel emotions wasn't his first choice.

"Understandable," Kiku said, adjusting the stack of books in his arms, and began walking in the direction of the school's entrance. Feliciano trotted to keep up. "Would you mind calling for pizza?"

"Yeah, sure," he mumbled. How did Kiku know the way to his parking spot so well? It was unnatural. He fiddled with his keys, before finding the right one and unlocking the door. "Toppings?" he said, tossing his bag into the backseat.

"Sausage and tomatoes," Kiku said, already buckling his seatbelt. He folded his hands in his lap, waiting patiently while Feliciano made the call. "Monday night was very good," he praised, after he'd hung up. "You two work well together when you actually work towards working together."

Feliciano let out a humorless laugh and let his head fall back against the seat. "I thought this wasn't going to be about Ludwig," he said.

"Pull yourself together," Kiku scolded. "You thought I came to you to tell you that you were doing a shitty job. I just wanted to tell you that you're making progress, Feliciano."

"Is this your little sparkly 'good job' sticker?" he said, turning the key in the ignition. The minivan roared to life. "Thanks. I _really_ needed it." Feliciano scoffed, shaking his head, and pulled out of the parking lot. He ignored how Kiku pursed his lips beside him and turned to look out the window.

They sat in silence together for a long while. Kiku just stared out the window while Feliciano drove in circles around a nearby neighborhood, waiting the thirty minutes the man over the phone said it would take for the pizza to be ready.

Kiku only spoke again once Feliciano rolled up to the checkout window to pay. He handed the smaller teen the pizza and held out his card, only to have Kiku accidentally elbow him in the face trying to force his arm down and hold out his own card.

"I'm paying," he said solemnly to the dark-haired woman in the window. Feliciano only managed a strangled cough. The woman rolled her eyes and grabbed Kiku's card.

"No, hold on!" he protested. Kiku fixed him with a dark glare.

"I'm. Paying," he said. Feliciano shook his head.

"No, your… elbow… in my windpipe," he choked out. Kiku had the grace to look embarrassed, and braced his hand against the headrest instead.

"Thank you," he said to the woman in the window, who gave her best customer service smile and waved them away. He finally collapsed back against his seat.

After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, Feliciano spoke up. "So what was that?" he asked, keeping his tone carefully level.

"I have money. You don't," Kiku said simply.

"I have enough money for a pizza," he said. Kiku shook his head.

"You're driving me. It's the least I can do," he explained. "Also, I think eating dinner at Ludwig's is a good idea. I know that my dad's not making anything exciting tonight."

Feliciano narrowed his eyes. There were too many buzzwords scattered throughout their conversation, that he was finally picking up on. "Kiku," he said carefully. "Who have you been talking to?"

He was quiet for a long while, trying to come up with a good response. Feliciano groaned, finally putting two and two together.

"So did you go to Matthew, or did Matthew go to you?"

"Matthew came to me," the other boy quietly admitted.

Feliciano rolled to a stop at a sign and rubbed his temples. "And how much did he go blabbing to you about?" he said, almost afraid of the answer.

"He told me that your father was being neglectful. That you live alone with him, and he doesn't care enough to feed you. He asked me to help you."

He swore under his breath. "Wonderful. I'm going to kill him," he muttered. To Kiku, he said, "He fucking cares, Kiku. He's just going through a hard time. He just doesn't feed me. Which is understandable. I'm eighteen, I should have a job or something. But I don't." Even to him, the excuse sounded flimsy.

Kiku hummed, obviously disbelieving. "Whatever you sa—"

"All right!" Feliciano interrupted. "Project time! Look, we're here! You get the pizza, I'll go let Ludwig know we're here," he said cheerily, throwing the car into park and running to the front door as fast as possible, quickly slipping through dashing upstairs. Somewhere in his subconscious, he noted that the rest of Ludwig's house was just as aesthetically bland as his room.

Ludwig been sitting on his bed, reading what looked like a nonfiction book about clean energy when Feliciano abruptly and violently charged into the room, cheerily announcing, "We're here!"

Kiku barged in not ten seconds later, holding the pizza box high over his head. Ludwig rapidly looked between the two of them for a few seconds, incredulity growing more and more visible on his face.

"What," Ludwig ground out, "in the hell do you two think you're doing?" Feliciano, keeping a bright, sunny smile plastered to his face, dropped his bag by the other boy's feet and heavily plopped himself in a rock-hard chair across the room. Kiku went very red, posture snapping back to soldier-perfect, and held the pizza box out to Ludwig in what looked like an apologetic manner.

"We brought pizza to snack on while we work," Kiku mumble-explained, fixing a disappointed eye on Feliciano. He grinned wider, knowing just how fake it looked and not giving a single shit.

Ludwig looked between them a few seconds more, and sat back down, putting his head in his hands. "I won't ask," he said. "Thank you for the food, Kiku."

Feliciano squared his jaw and subtly cracked his knuckles. There went Ludwig, again, being the better person. Did he exist solely to spite him? But he kept his tongue under lock and key. More people knew about his situation than he ever wanted already, and Ludwig knowing something that he could so easily use to fuck him over would be the final straw.

Oh, fuck, now Ludwig was looking down at him with that stupid, condescending, appraising look he always did.

"Are you going to answer?" he asked, dry as month-old bone.

"What?" Feliciano said. He shook his head. He'd been asked a question… question… "Um, no. What did you say?" he followed up, trying to pull the bite from his voice.

"Are you going to join us so we can start working?" Ludwig asked, an annoyed frown pulling down the corners of his lips. For some reason, the negative reaction sent little needles into his heart. Feliciano tightened his lips.

"Yeah," he finally said, heaving himself out of the chair and sitting down on the edge of Ludwig's bed instead. "Let's go."

The first thirty minutes, he let the other two do most of the talking and discussing and writing, opting to instead pull his knees up to his chest and stare blankly at the wall.

"Hey. Hey, Feli."

"Hmm?" he responded, turning to look at the speaker. Kiku, obviously. (Ludwig would never call him 'Feli'. Obviously.) He gestured at the greasy pizza box on the floor.

"You haven't eaten a single piece," he said. "I'm sure you're hungry." Feliciano's nostrils flared. Manipulative jerk. He opened his mouth to spit out some venomous reply or another.

"Italians do like pizza, right?" Ludwig said. And then, in an action that was completely out of character, he reached down and held the open box out. "Don't get it on my bed," he warned. Feliciano's mouth snapped shut. He nodded in thanks and took a slice, ignoring Kiku's smug, victorious grin.

He ended up eating three and a half slices. The last half, he split with Ludwig.

But even after his stomach stopped painfully trying to digest itself, he couldn't keep his thoughts from straying to last night. To Augustus, his piece of shit father who used to be the best father he could have asked for. How he'd just stared blankly and grabbed at his blanket as his son pleaded with him to put in some effort, screamed at him for being a worthless father—

And there it was again, that broad, warm hand on his shoulder. And then, two more. Smaller. And then voices, asking if he was alright—what—no? No—

"Feliciano. Please, breathe."

He did. In, and out, and in again, huge, gulping breaths that hurt his throat and made his lungs feel like they were going to burst. The blurred world around him began to shift back into focus. The vague black-white-gray shape in front of him sharpened into Kiku, who was staring him in the eyes with his own solid, firm, calming ones.

"Here," he said, offering a tissue. Feliciano shook his head and brushed the hand away, reaching up to rub his eyes.

Oh. Fuck. He'd been crying.

And again, there was that hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" That was Ludwig's voice, a gentle baritone. Fuck, even now he couldn't stop trying to be the better person? Couldn't stop mocking him with the kindness he'd failed to show anyone today? _Just go back to insulting me, it would hurt less. But then again, you probably only want to see me in pain, don't you?_

"Don't touch me," Feliciano eventually whispered. He didn't cut a very imposing figure, he knew that. But hopefully the acid in his words would be enough to drive him away. He heard a frustrated scoff from behind him. Success.

"I'm just trying to help—no, you know what? I don't know why I even bother," Ludwig said. "I've trying to be the better person, hoping that you'll take it as a—I don't know, a truce. But no! You continue to be the selfish brat you've always been. Do you only ever think about yourself, Vargas?" There it was. There was the spark, the disdain, the scorn. Kiku was trying to calm him down, it seemed, but to no avail. "What did I ever _do_ to you, Feliciano?" he shouted, real emotion in his voice now. "What did I do to deserve this from you? Because the only thing I remember is not knowing who you were and then being hated by you!"

Feliciano stiffened and spun around. "What did you do to me?" he hissed. "What did you do to me? _Fuck_ you, Ludwig! You want to know what you did to me? Let me tell you!" He stood up, perfectly content to let his sadness turn into rage. "My family and I used to live here, just down the street, did you know that? You and your fucking father and your brother and your mother or whatever—you bought that house from right underneath us and gave us a month to find a new place, and hey, guess what? The place we found gave my mother cancer. How about that? And now she's dead—" Feliciano stepped forward, punctuating his point with a sharp jab to Ludwig's chest. "—And now my brother's gone, and the only other person in the house—nope, we haven't moved—is, guess who, my shithole of a father. Does that answer your question, Ludwig? Are you _happy_? I spilled my whole tragic life story to you! Now you know! My family's broken, and it's all. Your. Fault."

By this point, Ludwig was pinned against the wall, a forearm pressed against his throat. The other boy's eyes were hard, angry. Underneath that, shocked.

"Feli, please—"

"Don't 'Feli, please' me, Kiku, I swear to God," he spat, giving Ludwig one last push before turning on the other boy, who had his hands held up in a gesture of surrender. "I understand you want to be hailed as the hero who "kept the peace and made everyone be friends and saved the day", but it's not happening. This whole thing? It's useless." He leaned down and picked up the mostly-empty pizza box. "I don't want your fucking pity," he said, and shoved it into Kiku's chest. The boy stumbled backwards, what could be tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes.

Noise exploded behind him as he packed his bag and slammed the bedroom door. He didn't listen. He didn't want to listen.

 **Matthew Williams**

 _do yourself a favor and don't fuckin talk to me tomorrow_

 _actually how about the next long while, until i say we're chill_

 _and tell al and ivan to stay away too._

 **Block Number?**

 **OK**

 **Never Mind**

 _…Yeah. He deserves it._

 **OK**


End file.
